Some souls are stitched together with silence, some with storms. Ours—was always fire.
The ring was still on her finger.
Its stone no longer cold, but warm—like it recognized her.
Like it had been waiting.
Anaya stared at her reflection in the mirror long after the vision faded. Her own face blinked back at her now, wide-eyed, afraid, but glowing with something new. A memory too close to surface. A truth too heavy to carry alone.
She should have taken it off.
But she couldn't.
It wasn't just jewelry. It was a key.
Next Morning – University Courtyard
The day was gold and green and full of wind. But everything inside Anaya felt grey.
Students laughed around her. Someone strummed a guitar on the lawn. The world kept spinning.
And all she could think about was that crown of fire. That burning staircase. That kiss like goodbye.
"Hey," Mia's voice cut through her haze. "Earth to Anaya."
Anaya turned slowly.
Mia frowned. "You haven't been answering. You okay?"
Anaya hesitated. Then nodded. "Just… bad dreams."
Mia didn't buy it, but let it go. "At least promise me you'll come tonight. There's a stargazing event at the observatory. First clear sky in weeks. You love that stuff."
Stars.
Anaya's breath caught.
The stars. They had burned in her dream. Hadn't they?
"I'll think about it," she said, voice distant.
Library – Afternoon
Anaya returned to the book Caelum had given her.
The Art of Dying Twice.
This time, she turned to the last few pages.
There, in fading gold ink, were sketches. Symbols. Fragmented poetry. One line was circled in crimson:
The locket opens only when the heart remembers death as love.
She whispered it aloud. Felt something inside her shiver.
Then, below it, another line:
You are cursed not because you loved, but because you loved him past the ending.
A voice startled her from behind.
"You were always too brave for the rules."
She turned sharply.
Caelum. Again. Always appearing when the questions became too loud.
"I didn't hear you come in," she said, her voice sharper than she intended.
He stepped closer, gaze unreadable. "You've remembered more."
"Not enough."
He looked at her hand. "You wore the ring."
"It showed me things. Things that don't make sense yet."
"They will. On the last night, everything makes sense."
Her hands clenched. "And then what? I die? Again?"
"No," he said, softly but firmly. "This time, I won't let you."
His voice shook on the last word, like a vow scarred by past failures.
"Tell me what I was," she whispered.
Caelum was silent. Then he reached into his coat, pulling out a folded parchment. "This was your writing. Not from this life, but the one before."
She opened it.
It was a page from some old manuscript. Faded. But legible.
To love an immortal is to bleed in centuries.
But if he remembers your name beyond the fire—
Then not even death can hold you apart.
She looked up. "What was I?"
He held her gaze. "You were a soulkeeper. A guardian of time's last gate."
"And you?"
He looked away. "I was never supposed to be yours."
"But I was yours anyway."
"Yes," he said, voice like ash. "And we paid the price."
Evening – University Observatory
She wasn't going to go.
But something inside her pulled—like a string tied to the stars themselves.
So she went.
The observatory was quiet. A few students were laughing on the grass, pointing telescopes skyward.
Anaya wandered away from them. Up the back stairs. Onto the roof.
And there—he was waiting.
Caelum.
His coat fluttered in the wind. His eyes glowed with that moonlit sorrow again.
"You followed the pull," he said, not turning.
"I didn't have a choice."
He turned now. "You never did."
They stood in silence.
Then she asked, "What happens if I remember everything?"
He stepped closer, until only inches separated them.
"Then the curse breaks. And we're either free... or lost forever."
The air grew still.
"What happens if I choose to forget again?" she whispered.
His breath hitched. "Then you'll survive this lifetime. But I won't. I vanish when you forget me. Always."
She looked at the stars.
They felt colder now.
Distant. Watching.
"Why does it always end in death?" she asked.
"Because our love never learned how to end in anything else."
He touched her cheek.
His fingers were cold.
But his eyes burned.
And then, for the first time in this life—he kissed her.
Not as a stranger.
But like someone who had kissed her through fire and lifetimes and broken endings.
And she remembered.
Not everything.
But enough.
Enough to know that she had loved him once...
More than fate allowed.